Strand of Deception

by Robin Caroll

  “But if this one—possibly G-G-Gina—are connected . . .”

  “Then the FBI will assist the TBI and provide all of our resources needed to solve the case and bring the responsible party to justice.” Nick would do his best to see that happen, and soon.

  “What kind of forensic evidence have they found?”

  “Too early to say, sir. They’re dusting for prints, taking fluid samples, examining the crime scene,” offered Darren.

  “And it’ll come to the FBI lab for processing?”

  The man was making Nick dizzy with his pacing. “The TBI’s regional crime lab is here, sir. Their response team collects the evidence and processes it. The FBI will assist only if needed.”

  “But isn’t the FBI’s lab the best?”

  The image of Maddie rushed across Nick’s mind. “I saw the team, sir. They’re good. I’d say they’re probably the best people to have on this case.”

  “If it were your daughter . . .”

  He saw the way Maddie crouched to pull blood samples, the way she hunched in an awkward position to not disturb evidence as she got what she could from the victim. “If it were one of my loved ones, I’d want the exact same team working the case as was there tonight.”

  Ford stopped pacing and locked stares with Nick, who didn’t blink.

  “Okay.” Ford hung his head. “What time tomorrow?”

  “Nine. Would you like me to come get you?”

  “No, I have my driver.” He lifted his head. “I’m not bringing my wife. I won’t subject her to this unless I know for certain it’s Gina.”

  Nick nodded. “I understand.” He moved toward the door.

  Ford followed them. “Thank you, Agents. For coming here tonight and telling me in person. I do appreciate it.”

  “Yes, sir. We’re doing everything we can to keep this out of the media as long as we can. At least until we get positive identification. But I have to warn you: there were news vans at the scene.”

  “Thank you for your efforts, Agent Hagar. I’ll have my staff handle any inquiries. Once we know for certain.”

  “Good night, sir.” Nick let out a long breath as he made his way back to the car.

  Darren stood alongside the car and ran a hand through his short blond hair. “I need to run home and make arrangements for my daughter tonight.”

  Poor Timmons . . . a widower left with a young daughter who had a heart condition that required surgeries, medications, and specialized care. “Just go on home. I’ll handle the rest.”

  “No, sir. I just need to make sure Savannah takes her medications and gets into bed without giving the sitter fits. It should only take me an hour or so.”

  Nick nodded. “Meet me at Gina Ford’s.”

  Darren rushed to his car.

  Nick got behind the wheel, started the engine, and stared into the darkness, knowing how the senator felt. Nick’s own memories from the past were entirely too vivid . . .

  The decorated Marine stood at the door, another just behind him. Nick stood in the hallway, watching as Dad’s spine went taut and straight as a rod.

  “Sir, may we come in?” The Marine’s voice boomed over the television from the living room.

  Dad stepped aside, his face paler than the cream paint Mom used throughout the house. The two men moved to the living room. Mom fumbled for the remote to mute her daytime story.

  “Please, have a seat.” Dad’s voice came out a higher pitch than Nick had ever heard.

  Nick ducked into the shadows of the hall. Dad would send him to his room if he saw him and Nick would never learn what his brother had done.

  The two officers sat. Dad stood behind the couch, his hands on Mom’s shoulders.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Hagar—”

  “No! No! Nooooooo!” Mom shook her head as tears flew down her cheeks.

  “Your son, Roger Hagar Jr. was killed in the line of duty.”

  Roger . . . dead? Nick’s stomach tightened into a knotted wad.

  Mom collapsed into a ball on the couch. Dad’s shoulders slumped.

  No, this couldn’t be. Roger couldn’t be dead! This had to be some sick joke. Bile burned the back of Nick’s throat.

  “I’m sorry, sir. Ma’am.”

  Dad swallowed hard. Nick could hear it over Mom’s sobs. He moved around from the back of the couch, and then, it was like his knees gave out. He pitched forward.

  One of the Marines was on his feet in a flash and caught Dad. Holding him up until he reached the couch. “My boy. My boy. Not my boy.” The grief rolled off of Dad and filled the house with misery. Darkness.

  Nick thought he might be ill.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Hagar, I’m the chaplain of your son’s unit. I knew Roger. Knew him to be an amazing young man.”

  Mom lifted her tear-soaked face and nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “Why my boy?” Dad’s words chilled Nick.

  “I can only imagine your grief, Mr. and Mrs. Hagar. I’m so sorry for your loss.” The chaplain inched to the edge of his seat. “Would you like me to pray with you?”

  “Yes—”

  “Pray with us?” Dad interrupted Mom. “Are you serious? Pray? God just let our son die! Defending his country. What kind of God would do such a thing?”

  “Sir, you’re hurting and—”

  Dad stood, his voice storming over the living room. “Of course I’m hurting. You’ve just told me that God stole my son from me.”

  “Roge . . . it’s not their fault.” Mom reached for Dad’s hand.

  He shrugged her off. “I think you should leave now.”

  The chaplain and other man both stood, but the chaplain had to try again. “I’m terribly sorry for—”

  Dad led the way to the front door. “Yes, I know, you’re terribly sorry for my loss. But you can’t bring Roger back. God took him. Took the one perfect thing in my life.”

  “Sir—”

  “Please leave.” Dad opened the door.

  The other Marine handed Dad a folder. “We’ll deliver your son’s personal belongings as soon as we can.”

  With that, the men left. Dad shut the door, then leaned against it. He slid to the floor, sobbing so hard Nick’s heart pounded over his own tears.

  From that moment on, life would never be the same.

  “That’s it. Last sample logged in. All ready to begin the extractions in the morning.” Nothing like working on a weekend. Maddie couldn’t hold back the yawn. Or the next one.

  “Girl, it’s still early yet. You’re acting like an old woman who goes to bed as soon as the sun goes down.” Eva hung her lab coat on the hook. “Glad Lance said meeting later would work excellent for him. I have time to freshen my makeup.”

  Maddie reached for her purse. “Well, you have fun. I’m going home, taking a long, hot shower, then crawling into bed.”

  “It’s official: you’ve turned into a senior citizen when I wasn’t looking.”

  Maddie chuckled and looped her arm through her friend’s. “If that gives me permission to be snug in my bed before midnight, then call AARP and get me signed up.” She turned off the lights, pulled the door closed behind her, and checked to make sure it was locked.

  The security lights were dimmer than usual, or perhaps the moonless night added to the shadows as Maddie and Eva crossed the parking lot to their cars. Or maybe the wind whistling reminded Maddie a little too much of the crime scene they’d left not long ago. She shivered and hugged Eva as images of the girl’s lifeless eyes invaded her mind. The cases she worked always stayed with her. And stayed with her. Until the case was closed and, hopefully, justice served. “You be careful tonight.”

  Eva flashed her high-wattage grin. “Always. Go home. Get some rest. I’m going to grill you abou
t Agent Hagar in the morning.”

  Maddie shook her head and pushed the button on the remote to unlock her car. Without intent, she checked the backseat as she opened the door and the interior was flooded with light, making sure no intruder lurked there, ready to stick a gun to her head and kidnap her. She laughed at herself later as she steered toward home.

  Having a brother who was an FBI agent made her more than a little cautious. Rafe had installed a state-of-the-art security system in her home as soon as she’d bought it seven years ago. Five turns and ten minutes later, she pulled up to the gate of her subdivision. Moments later, she whipped into her driveway and parked in the garage. She waited until the garage door had closed before getting out of the car and dragging herself into the house.

  She tossed her purse onto the entry table as she sang.

  She glanced at her home phone LCD display: Twenty-two missed calls.

  Twenty-two? Too many for telemarketers. The voice mail indicator wasn’t lit up. Someone would call twenty-two times and not leave a message? She pressed the button to reveal the caller ID. Unknown number.

  Maddie dug into her pocket and pulled out her phone. No missed calls registered.

  Strange.

  “Wise men say, only fools rush in . . .”

  She headed down the hall to her bedroom, stored her gun on the bedside table, kicked off her shoes, and entered the bathroom.

  “But I, can’t, help, falling in love, with you.”

  Humming, Maddie flipped the shower on hot, got undressed, and stepped under the steamy spray. If only the goat’s milk and oatmeal soap could wash away the memory of that poor girl’s lifeless eyes. The fear hanging in the cloudy orbs, frozen forever.

  Who could do such a thing? Why?

  As usual when she asked the question, no answer came. She’d asked it many times over the years, rarely ever getting a strong resolution in response. She just knew she had to help families of victims get closure. Had the driver who’d killed her parents not been convicted and imprisoned, Maddie didn’t think she’d have been able to go on in life. It was hard enough to deal with their loss without having unanswered questions as well.

  Brring!

  Was that the phone? Maddie turned off the shower and reached for a towel.

  Brring!

  Scrambling and nearly slipping, Maddie stepped out of the shower.

  Brring!

  She ran into the bedroom, her hair dripping cold onto her shoulders. The phone wasn’t on her bedside table. Where had she left it?

  Brri—

  Her office. She tightened the towel around her and strode down the hall. There sat the phone, on her desk, right where she’d left it this morning after she’d talked with Riley. She yanked it up and read: 1 missed call. She checked the caller ID. Unknown number. Big surprise. She almost broke her neck for the unknown caller.

  Back in her bedroom, she placed the receiver on the base.

  Brring!

  She jumped, then jerked the receiver to her ear. “Hello.”

  Heavy breathing reverberated against her ear.

  “Hello?”

  Just breathing.

  Chilled that had nothing to do with standing in nothing but a towel with water dripping from her hair, Maddie shivered. “Hello? I can hear you breathing.”

  A woman’s sobs filled the silence. Heart-wrenching sobs.

  Maddie swallowed. “Hello?”

  The connection broke, leaving only a faint electronic buzz on the line.

  She pressed the button to turn off the phone, then let it drop to the bed. Probably a wrong number and she should just shake it off. But those sobs . . .

  Maddie hummed as she stood.

  Brring!

  She snatched up the phone again. “Hello?”

  “How would you feel if you were attacked?” The masculine voice, gravelly and coarse, boomed.

  He laughed, deep and evil.

  Then, the man hung up.

  She sank to the bed, a death grip on the phone. Maddie ignored the cold settling into her bones.

  Brring!

  She threw the phone to the floor. The battery cover shot across the room and the battery slid under the bed. The ringing stopped.

  Maddie covered her mouth with a shaking hand. In her line of work, she’d been exposed to more crime data than the average person, but never had she been threatened before. She hated to call anyone—after all, she was a gun-carrying TBI officer who could handle herself—but she had to report this.

  She put the phone back together, got a dial tone, dialed 911, then asked to speak to the nonemergency dispatcher. She reported the threat and was told an officer would come take her report soon. Maddie hung up, then rushed to get dressed. So much for her plans of an early night. “You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog . . .”

  After shoving her feet into her worn Uggs, she shuffled to the kitchen to make some hot chocolate.

  She opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the skim milk. “Cryin’ all the time.”

  Brring!

  The gallon slipped from her hand and crashed to the floor. Milk splashed on the legs of her yoga pants and oozed over the ceramic tile.

  Maddie froze.

  Brring!

  Chapter Five

  “The image is one thing and the human being is another. It’s very hard to live up to an image, put it that way.”

  Elvis Presley

  Seven forty-five. Not late by anyone’s measure.

  Sitting in a car in the senator’s driveway probably wasn’t the best place to be at the moment, considering the news he’d just delivered. Timmons wouldn’t meet him at Gina Ford’s for at least thirty or so minutes.

  Nick glanced at the dossier sitting in the seat beside him. He’d meant to return it to the senator, but he didn’t have the heart to go back and disturb the grieving man now. Not to mention the deputy director was now putting on pressure for the case to be solved. Pronto.

  After slipping the car in Reverse, Nick left the Ford residence and headed toward US Highway 72. It was time he met Gina’s boyfriend.

  He drove toward the address listed as David Tiddle’s current residence. The drive to Farmington Gates Apartments only took Nick fifteen minutes, but he’d used the time in the car to organize his interrogation tactic. He parked next to Tiddle’s apartment building, double-checked the number, then moved toward the stairs.

  It took two hard knocks before the door swung open. Nick took a quick appraisal of the man. Six feet tall with brown, wavy hair. Green eyes that were almost too close together and eyebrows with a natural arch. “David Tiddle?”

  “Yes?” The man’s voice was a hair right of nasally.

  Nick flashed his badge. “Agent Hagar, FBI. May I come in and ask you a few questions?”

  The man hesitated.

  “Just a few minutes of your time. It’s important.”

  “Sure.” Tiddle opened the door and stepped aside. “I’m just getting back into town, so I’m a little tired. Please excuse the mess.”

  Nick surveyed the room as Tiddle shut the door behind him. Couch and love seat faced a flat-screen television. A coffee table stood crooked in front of the scratched brown leather couch. Ugly and dated table lamps matched the cheap miniblinds covering the front windows. An open suitcase lay in the middle of the floor, wadded-up socks in the corner.

  “Uh, have a seat.” Tiddle motioned to the couch. He kicked the suitcase under the coffee table and dropped to the love seat. “What can I help you with?”

  Nick nodded to the suitcase. “Where have you been?”

  “Clarksville. Scouting out the area for my boss.”

  “Scouting?”

  Tiddle smiled. “My boss is a photographer. He’s working on a book
of graffiti art from the state.”

  “Interesting.” Now to move in for the kill. “When did you leave on this trip?”

  Tiddle’s smile slipped off his face and his beady eyes narrowed. “Yesterday. My boss had called me the previous night and requested the trip.”

  “Where did you stay?”

  “The Holiday Inn on Sango Road. Why?”

  Nick pulled out a notebook and jotted the information. “What time did you leave yesterday?”

  “Around nine or so. Why?”

  “When did you return?”

  “About an hour ago.” Tiddle shifted his weight from one side of his body to the other. “What’s this about?”

  His alibi would be easy enough to check out. “Do you know Gina Ford?”

  “Yes. She’s my girlfriend.” Tiddle’s face tightened. “Has something happened to her?”

  “Why would you ask if something happened to her?”

  “Maybe because I tried to call her several times today, and she didn’t answer. Her phone went straight to voice mail. Gina never turns off her phone and never forgets to charge it. She stays in constant contact with her father.” Tiddle’s shoulders squared. “And maybe because an FBI agent shows up at my door, asking where I’ve been, when I came home, and if I know her.”

  Touché. “Gina’s father reported her missing this morning.” Nick never took his eyes off Tiddle.

  The man’s eyes widened to almost normal. “She’s missing?”

  “Her car was found.”

  “But she’s missing?”

  Nick couldn’t quite get a read on Tiddle, which was highly unusual for him. Normally, Nick’s training and experience kicked in instinctively and he could read most anyone. Maybe he could use shock value as an instigator for a reading.

  “Actually, Mr. Tiddle, a body of a young woman was found in Gina’s car. We have reason to believe that person is Gina.”

  “Gina? Dead?” The pastiness of Tiddle’s skin paled further. “No, that can’t be. Gina can’t be dead.”

  Even with the shock value, Nick still couldn’t tell if Tiddle faked his reaction or not, or if he was just a really good actor. They’d check his alibi and see if a follow-up interview was needed.